


Revelation

by PartyLines



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, F/M, Graphic Detail Warning, Other Character Death Mentioned, Revelations, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:21:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartyLines/pseuds/PartyLines
Summary: Pansy Parkinson finds her truth in an unlikely place.





	Revelation

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2019Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2019Round1) collection. 



> _Written for The Slytherin Cabal's 2019 Death By Quill Round One_
> 
> Big beta love!

No one comes for them when it’s over.

The noise settles into dust and screams trickle into pale wails of despair that only just penetrate the dungeon walls. When Pansy Parkinson stands on shaking legs and opens the door that’s been the only thing separating them from life and death, she gasps—just before she heaves. Splintered timber and chunks of stone have almost blocked the way out, and the acrid smell of magic and blood and _death_ burns her throat.

It’s the shimmer that lures her out.

Spread amongst the rubble, there’s a glint of light. First just one and then another, and another. With a short nod over her shoulder to the cowering group behind her, she steels herself to lead her fellow Slytherins to safety and to them—to Malfoy and Nott; Crabbe and Goyle.

Tiny shards of glass catch the moonlight and Pansy follows them through the increasing decay as she climbs towards the Great Hall. She can’t see past her own hand, but she knows she must follow the glass, and she must head upward. His hair gives him away as she stands—frozen in horror—at the entryway when they finally reach the landing. Draco Malfoy’s sitting with his parents—just feet away from an escape route—and the relief that glows inside her is so immense she almost stumbles. He’s safe. He’s safe in a sea of glass shards that’s large enough to show her face and the stranger looking back at her is _fierce_ and searching. She needs to find the others before she leaves. She’d have given her _own_ life to protect them.

Potter’s would’ve protected them _all_.

As she weaves her way through the crowded room—downcast eyes filing away details of the dead without seeing—she realises _no one_ is watching her. No one is staring. No one attacks. She’s nothing. In the hours she’d been hidden away in the common room, something so dramatic had happened up here that she’d become _nothing_.

Potter stands with the Granger girl in the centre of the room and they stand out; awkward and out of place. Pansy thinks maybe it’s that there’s only two when there’s always three, or maybe it’s just that they look different without people to save; without wrongs to right. Theo and Blaise are just beyond them, and she almost makes it past without seeing. The window looks as though it might be the only one left intact in the entire castle, and she can’t help but stare. There’s no fierce woman looking back at her. There’s nothing—less than nothing—and she feels like an invisible _monster_.

She’d been the only one to contemplate splitting up the only hope they had of ending this war for good.

The only one.

Her brain pauses as it processes one of the bodies. There’s something niggling at her, itching its way out of her and grabbing at the tip of her tongue but she’s not sure. She can’t be sure, because the body is blackened with char and the features are twisted and melted into an unrecognisable jumble. The thought keeps poking anyway, and she’s certain it matters. In the pool of blood and rain and ash beside the corpse, Pansy sees a flash of something old that feels too new. Her face is warped and dirty blood-red, but it gives her strength. She’s everything she should be—strong and cunning and just waiting for one more chance to be _enough._

It’s only as she swivels around to look more closely that she notices her housemates have gone. They’ve probably darted off to family members, or straight out of the gates of Hogwarts and into somewhere free where the weight of the air isn’t quite as choking.

It doesn’t matter. The burned remains belong to one of her own, and she needs to give them peace. The smell is awful, and she gags and turns away when the crackling of tearing skin and crumbling bone reaches her as she tries to find _something_ in answer to that niggly little surety clawing its way out of her. For a moment, she’s nothing again—she can’t _do_ this; it isn’t in her and never was.

Then she catches his eye. It’s completely unintentional and entirely uncomfortable, but for some reason, she holds it anyway. Ronald Weasley is watching her without malice; without anything at all He’s alone and suddenly she can see the _pain_ of this war—etched into the aging lines of his face and bloodshot eyes; the way his cheeks are dappled-red, and his freckled skin is bloodied, and his shoulder hangs in a way that’s not-quite-right. He looks right at her and something shifts—just a little—and one corner of his mouth turns up into an almost-smile as he bows his head.  When she bows hers in return she understands.

Pansy’s loyalty has always been to herself, and he’s offering her something she’d thrown away just hours ago—a safe way out. Taking a deep breath and turning resolutely away from the unknown body, she crosses the space between them in sharp strides. She doesn’t hesitate as she takes his hand and follows his wavering gaze to a group of redheads crowded around another body—another redhead dead on the ground. He squeezes, even though just hours ago, she’d tried to throw his best friend to the wolves. He squeezes and the tears that flow from his eyes seem renewing; warming—as though they’re washing away the mess that was his childhood and melting the ice that was hers.

Ron turns his focus back to what he was doing before he started watching her, and what she sees in the large chunk of jagged mirror—it’s broken frame decorated with only a few swirls and meaningless letters—she sees someone she doesn’t know. The woman _looks_ just like her, except that she’s beautiful and strong and ambitious, and somehow Pansy _knows_ in that moment that she alone has the power to finish this war for real. Weasley is lost in the image, and she doubts he sees the same thing that she does, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore, and in a strange burst of golden courage she pulls him close and kisses him.

He kisses her back and, in the end, out of breath and out of everything, he looks toward Harry and Hermione—the triumph shadowed by loss in their expressions; towards his family—victory forgotten as they mourn the loss of one of their own.  His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

“Looks like maybe you were right, Parkinson,” he murmurs, as though the thought’s forcing itself out even as he wants to keep it hidden.

She’s surprised by the sting that those words leave behind, and she turns away to hide her tears. When she faces him again, she’s ready: tall and proud and the glint in her eye doesn’t come from the pieces of the mirror this time. She shakes her head at him, takes his hand and pulls him up tall. She can hardly believe that she’s giving a pep talk to a Weasley after the greatest battle since Grindelwald, but she does. She spies her reflection in the mirror and all she sees is happiness and she know that this is it. “It’s not over yet, Weasley,” she taunts, rolling her eyes as she pulls him towards his family—head held high and a new pluck in her step as she realigns herself with the changing tide. “It’s far from over. But you and me? We’re going to finish this thing.”

When her intention dawns on him, it feels a little something like magic.

 


End file.
